Unexpected Danger
by tenereamor
Summary: A normal call goes not so normally when they guys are faced with a threat that has nothing to do with a fire.
1. Chapter 1

_So yay! My first Chicago Fire story! I just recently got into this fandom (I actually watched all the episodes over the weekend...I have no life) so im rather unsure about this...so this is just the first part, if it's good and people think I should keep it up, I will but if it's crap I'm gonna take it down. Also, the situation encountered here is a little odd but my Uncle, a firefighter lieutenant in Connecticut actually gave me the idea because he told a story about something like this almost (thankfully!) happening to him which got me thinking and then I mentioned the situation to my other uncle who is also a firefighter, in Florida though, and he mentioned that it also almost happened to him! So it stuck in my mind and then I got sucked into Chicago Fire and...well this was the result! Also, heads up, I have no beta, all mistakes are my own.__Hope you like!_

_I do not own Chicago Fire!_

_Please review!_

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It's a fairly basic call, apartment building fire, nothing overtly dangerous beyond, y'know, the fire. Casey's the last one still clearing up a floor, the rest of his guys as well as Severide and his having cleared the floors above. His floor had been clear so far, the occupants of the first floor easily clearing out but he's still got one unit left.

"Casey!" Severide's voice crackles through his radio, "Hurry it up! Building's getting' shaky!"

"Last one!" Turning away from the wall, the blond kicks open the door, directing his shout through the newly created opening, "Fire department! Call out!"

For a moment there's nothing but then he hears a voice and whips around rushing into the room.

Casey's not expecting what happens next, he takes two steps into the room, there's twin cracks –not the sound of the building, or the fire he knows those sounds but this, it's different– and that's all the warning he gets before something slams into his chest, jerking him back and dropping him to the floor.

Barely audible over the crackling fire is a horrified shout but Casey's more focused on the pain ripping through his chest and the black spots darkening his vision. He feels the weight drop down next to him but it takes a few blinks before he can make out the figure. It's a teenage boy, shaggy, unruly brown hair, tall, well built. The kid's soot stained and terrified, tears streaming down his face, voice broken and stuttering, "Oh my God! I'm so sorry! I didn't me- it was an acci- oh my God, what did I do? Please, oh God, please don't be dead!"

He keeps rambling but Casey's too confused as to what the kid thinks he did and then his mind clears enough for him to remember that they need to get outta here. So he tries to shove down some of the pain, with not overwhelming success, voice still stuttering "Ki-kid!" the boy jerks up, relief flooding his face but Casey doesn't give him a moment, "Kid, what's your name?"

"Eric…" he sniffs.

"Ok, ok, Eric. We gotta get outta here. You, you need to help me up." Eric nods and the next few moments are a blur of pained gasps and curses as the teenager helps him sit then stand up. Finally they get to a standing position, Eric pretty much holding the firefighter up and Casey does his best to give him direction. Right before they enter into the smoke filled hallway, he catches sight of the black metal discarded carelessly on the apartment floor next.

His stomach drops and just as he loses consciousness it hits him.

He'd been friggin' _shot!_

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Severide's staring at the doorway, heart beating double time in his chest as it remains empty, nothing but smoke and the occasional lick of flame pouring out of it. He knows the others are staring too, all their hearts in their throats but he can't really think about that right now.

Casey shoulda been out by now, or at least answering his radio, but he's done neither, even with them all shouting through their own.

"Chief! We gotta go back in!" Cruz is the one who shouts finally, even though they're all thinking it. Their lieutenant and friend could be stuck somewhere in the inferno, radio broken, unable to call out for help.

Boden's face is grim, "No, we can't put more guys in, not with this building about to come down."

Even knowing his right, Severide immediately protests, as do the others, horrified at the thought of the blond alive, alone and trapped as the building comes down around him. He whips around and is two second from disregarding orders and running into the building when a shape breaks through the smoke.

It takes a moment till he can make out the shape as two figures leaning against each other, one distinctly familiar as Casey, mask off and jacket flapping open.

Behind him there are shouts of the relief and it flood through Severide for a moment too until he takes in the two.

One's a teenager, tear tracks striping through the soot stains, nothing unusual, but he's not the one leaning over, it's Casey. Casey's not even walking, he's barely being held up by the kid's arm around his waist; head tipped forward, blue eyes closed. His jacket flutters to the side and Severide's heart drops, the younger firefighter's shirt is drenched in dark blood, the crimson liquid soaking into his pants and dripping to the ground.

For a moment he's frozen, just like all those times he hears witnesses accounts of them finding themselves frozen, unable to move, but then he's racing forward, the relief filled joking and banter cutting off with his panic filled shout, "CASEY!"

The kid collapses before he reaches them, legs giving out under the weight and stress of carrying a full grown man, but Severide pays him little heed, even as the teen burst into sobs, instead dropping to his knees next to his fellow lieutenant. More footsteps pound out as both of their men came racing over, abruptly realizing that something's wrong and the Chief's voice calls out for a medic but the dark haired lieutenant's more focused on checking on the state of his friend, hands going instinctively to check for a pulse, finally finding one, thready and light against his fingertips.

"Hey come on Casey, wake up!" His voice is a bit panicky as he stares at the lax face in front of him, "Matt! I mean it! Come on Matt! Wake up!"

"Oh Jesus Christ!" Herrmann gasps put as he comes up next to them, the others following with similar comments as they notice the blood soaked fabric on Casey's torso.

Mouch is the one to turn to the kid, "What the hell happened?"

To their surprise the teen bursts into a new round of sobs, "Oh God! I'm so sorry! I-I didn't know who it was! I didn't mean to!"

Dawson and Shay appear, the guys clearing to one side even as the kid continues his nonsensical rambling. The two rapidly got to work, checking vitals, pulling out equipment and cutting the blood stained shirt all with practices movements.

Severide's stomach drops when Shay tugs the fabric away and violently gasps and flinches face paling, Dawson turns from the equipment, mirroring her partner's reaction and he leans to get a glance.

"Oh god! I didn't mean to shoot him!" the kid finally says a recognizable sentence and the darker-haired lieutenant feels his entire body go cold and freeze as the words hit and the two circular holes become visible on his friend's chest.

Casey had been friggin _shot_!

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_tbc_  
_(if y'all think it's worth it)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Ok wow, I am still utterly amazed by the response to my story! I just want to say thank you to everyone. So I did decide to write this story as non-slash less because that's what people wanted and more because I ended up spending a ton of time mindlessly working out an outline and when I looked over it, brotherly/non-slash affection just fit better with it but anyone is free to read this as slash if they want because I won't end either Severide or Casey into any other relationship, though a scene I was thinking about has a touch of Dawson/Mills with a moment of previous almost-Dawson/Casey. Also, for slash fans, I got another plot bunny over the weekend about a story that I wanna do next that would unquestionably be slash. I would respond to all my reviews but I never expected as many as I got so I think I'm going to try responding to ever new review up after this is up in the next chapter, sorry to all the reviewers I got already, you guys are utterly amazing. My orchestra trip started off not too bad but went downhill when I got sick the first night, the second day started with it pouring and then ended with me having to go to the hospital where I was told I had an ovarian cyst that ruptured (the better outcome considering the other choice was appendicitis) and then ending with a tire blowing out on the return trip and a planned eight hour trip ended in a fourteen hour trip. As miserable as that seems, it was actually rather fun, my friends were utterly amazing, making me laugh and giggle instead of wallowing in pain and misery, and also I kept getting emails telling me I had a new follower and favoriter or reviewer and that was amazing so thank you all and I hope you continue reading this!_

_I do not own Chicago Fire!_

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_Please review!_

_Previously;  
"Oh god! I didn't mean to shoot him!" the kid finally says a recognizable sentence and the darker-haired lieutenant feels his entire body go cold and freeze as the words hit and the two circular holes become visible on his friend's chest._

_Casey had been friggin_ shot_!_

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Severide's frozen for a moment, eyes wide, and blood rushing in his ears. Around him the others have also stopped, horror on their faces but the lieutenant is barely aware of their presence, much less their actions, conscious only of his friend's slack features and blood-stained chest.

The moment ends abruptly when Casey groans weakly and his eyes flutter open looking glazed and confused. It's like a play button is pressed, sound and motion rushes back. Shay and Dawson fly into work, movements practiced but quick and voices sharp and commanding, medical jargon volleying between the two. Severide sags, missing the ground only because Herrmann and Cruz reach out to steady him, but the Squad lieutenant is watching the two medics. He, like the others, has been around them enough to normally be able to grasp some of the lingo but right now he can barely think. Still, their worried expressions are enough to tell him that it's serious. The severity is driven home even more Casey coughs feebly, the weak force still being enough to rack his entire body, and the pain is as obvious as the brilliant red blood trickling from his mouth.

Shay curse as Dawson mutters about a punctured lung and the two gently but urgently move the younger lieutenant onto a stretcher, rushing towards their ambulance the moment he's secured. Severide's up and after them in a moment, caring little for any possible protests or orders to remain from his and Casey's men or the Chief, not noticing that no one tries to stop him.

Even the two medics don't say a word when he races up to them as they're loading the now unconscious Casey into the ambulance. Dawson doesn't even acknowledge him as she continues to work and Shay, while she rushes towards the driver's seat merely orders, "Stay out of the way."

He nods, hopping in behind Dawson and moving out of the way as the pull out, flying down the Chicago streets, sirens screaming.

They're minutes away, Shay's on the radio shouting for a trauma team to be ready, Lakeshore visible through the windshield when a shrill alarm starts shrieking. This time it's Dawson who curses, voice terror filled as she jumps forward, "He's crashing! Get us there!"

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The scene is quiet after the ambulance goes racing out of view, all eyes fixed on the corner it went racing around carrying both their lieutenants and for a moment nobody moves. Nobody moves until two paramedics they don't know appear, walking over with equipment and for the first time everyone remembers the teen who Casey had brought out and whip around to face him.

"What the hell happened?" Boden's booming voice is demanding even as the medics hook the kid up to oxygen. He's uncharacteristically agitated and unsympathetic but he lets it go with the fact that his younger lieutenant has just been shot twice in the chest.

The kid sniffles, obviously barely reigning in a sob, "I-I-I didn't mean to! He ju-just came storming in and I tho-thought he was someone el-else! An-and then I just pulled the trig-trigger ca-cause of that and he, he just dropped! And, oh god, I thought he was de-dead but then he started tal-talking!" he looks up pleadingly at the Chief, his brown eyes watery, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to sho-shoot him!"

He breaks down into sobs again, a coughing fit racking his body at the same time too and the medics, obviously shocked but what had just been explained, softly state that they're going to take him to Lakeshore to treat smoke inhalation and shock. Boden just nods before turning to his men.

They're all soot stained and dirty, faces drawn in shock at everything that has occurred but Herrmann and Mouch look up at him and nod, starting to herd the others back towards the trucks with orders to get back to the house and then go to Lakeshore.

The Chief watches them all head back, sees as Otis and Herrmann gently guide Mills who seems shaky and unstable, staring at the stain of blood that seeped onto his shirt somehow, watches as the men of a truck and a squad band together. It's the Chief who watches all this, who turns back to his own car and climbs in, but it's Boden who clenches his jaw and determinedly stares at the road as he drives, the image of his lieutenants, of his friends, one limp and bleeding, the other desperate and horrified forced out of his mind.

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_tbc  
____(was Boden OOC? Or do y'all think its good?)__  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks so much to all the reviewers and followers and favoriters! It makes my day when I see that someone has enjoyed this story! Sorry it took a while to get this chapter up, I can't really keep to a set schedule for writing, which is why I never say anything like I'll have a chapter up every week...but this chapter is longer then the previous, I think it's the longest yet, not too hard when I only have three chapters...hope everyone still likes where this is going!_

_I do not own Chicago Fire!_

_Please review!_

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_Previously;_

_They're minutes away, Shay's on the radio shouting for a trauma team to be ready, Lakeshore visible through the windshield when a shrill alarm starts shrieking. This time it's Dawson who curses, voice terror filled as she jumps forward, "He's crashing! Get us there!"_

_They're all soot stained and dirty, faces drawn in shock at everything that has occurred but Herrmann and Mouch look up at him and nod, starting to herd the others back towards the trucks with orders to get back to the house and then go to Lakeshore._

_The Chief watches them all head back, sees as Otis and Herrmann gently guide Mills who seems shaky and unstable, staring at the stain of blood that seeped onto his shirt somehow, watches as the men of a truck and a squad band together. It's the Chief who watches all this, who turns back to his own car and climbs in, but it's Boden who clenches his jaw and determinedly stares at the road as he drives, the image of his lieutenants, of his friends, one limp and bleeding, the other desperate and horrified forced out of his mind._

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It's not like earlier, the world doesn't stop, sound doesn't face away and his surroundings don't slip from view. Instead, it's like everything has been ramped up, colors bleed with vibrancy, the screaming alarm and Shay's demanding shouts through the radio are painfully loud and Dawson's practiced movements as she preps for CPR are unnaturally fast, in fact, everything is moving, jumping slightly, but Severide's too panicky to realize the it's him, shaking in his seat.

Because everything is moving, everything but Casey who's limp and motionless atop the stretcher, eyes closed and chest deathly still.

And then Dawson's above the younger man, arms extended, elbows locked as she starts counting off compressions. It's not perfect, Casey's limp body doesn't stay perfectly in one position, and Dawson sways to the sides, movements jerky; they're in a moving ambulance for god's sake. But more than that, with each compression, more blood gets forced out –the gauze pressed against the wounds too soaked to hold more– pooling over Casey's bare chest. Dawson's hands are slick with the liquid, fingers and palms slipping and sliding and her rhythm falters a few times, the beats just a little off. Her first rescue breathe doesn't go in, she's got to pull back and reposition her mask and Casey's head. It's messy and imprecise and imperfect because this isn't a goddamn movie or TV show; the blood glistening in the light isn't fake, it's real, painfully so and the possibility is very real that he just saw the violent and painful and bloody last moments of life of his fellow lieutenant, of his best friend and pseudo-brother who he's spent the last few months doubting and fighting with and blaming and trying to _hate_ and, and…

And, shit, they've both been idiots, both of them because they both screwed this up, yeah, maybe him more than Casey, but this –this cycle of them seeming to get over what happened then blowing up at each other– is on both of them. He knew they'd been taking one step forward, two steps back but he never thought only one of them, only _he_, would be left doing the steps alone because the blond the dying, is technically _dead_.

They finally race into Lakeshore, sirens wailing, alarm still screaming, but, as if to spite him for his earlier thought about TV and reality, moment after the door is yanked open, the shrill alarm breaks off by a slow stuttering but reassuring beeping and Dawson straightens up, obviously exhausted but gin and voice triumphant, "He's back!"

"Get him out!" One doctor orders, voice sharp above the general din outside the hospital. Shay, dark uniform clear amongst the pale scrubs and white lab coats standing behind the ambulance and Dawson swiftly get Casey unloaded. ER nurses take over the moment the wheels hit the ground and the two medics and the doctor and nurses follow as the gurney gets rushed through the doors. Severide scrambles out of the ambulance behind them, racing to catch up quickly and hearing the doctor question, "What have we got?"

"Caucasian, male, firefighter, late 20's. Two gunshot wounds to the chest, one likely punctured lung. Probably suffering from smoke inhalation and burns. Went into cardiac arrest en route." Shay's voice is controlled but concern is clear on her face.

The doctor nods, voice urgent as he shouts out orders, the group passing through another set of doors. Despite the previous TV show timing, reality reigns again as Severide doesn't go careening in behind the stretcher. Instead he stops just shy of the swinging double doors alongside Shay and Dawson. All three watching through the small windows as their friend disappeared around a corner, the medical staff's urgent, practiced movements following.

They're left standing in the waiting room and all they can do is wait.

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They're silent on the way back, worry, and fear at whatever news they might get, practically tangible around both crews. At the end of the day and friendly rivalry and sometimes not so friendly rivalry between their lieutenants gets put aside and they're not two separate groups that work together, they're one team, a single group that, yes they can work just fine as two different forces but they're still one group, the distinction they make to each other nothing more than joking pride. Truck goes off on different calls often, Casey leading them, and Squad does the same, Severide handing out their orders but when all's said and done, when they both get a call, that's when they're their best, when they've got their full team, Casey and Severide both giving out orders, this distinction between teams and who's on which fades.

So the worry is shared between the two vehicles as they pull back into the firehouse, the Chief moments behind them, expression just as worried, just more hidden. The guys climb out of the trucks as the Boden walks over, voice stern, "Get cleaned up," everyone turns to look at him, obviously eager to get off and head to the hospital but waiting his orders about the fact that their shift wasn't over. Glancing at his watch, the older man sighs, they still had an hour left in their shift but with both their lieutenants absent, one critically injured, he couldn't honestly expect them to have very good focus if any calls did come in and he relents, "Get cleaned up and then you're off shift."

The early release would normally garner excited whoops and huge grins only but receives grim nods as the men moved off towards the locker rooms. Mills trails behind; he could still see Casey limp against the pavement, face pale underneath the soot and shirt blood-soaked. He had come into this knowing it was a dangerous job, had seen it come from expected places, like when Casey and Herrmann had fallen through the floor his first day or when Vargas had to retire or when Capp got shocked in the drug house and he had seen it from unexpected places, like with Detective Voight or when the fire house got shot at but it had never been this bad and he had never imagined anything like this, to be shot on accident while trying to save someone, it didn't seem really.

"Mills?" he jerks out of his thoughts at Herrmann's voice, eyes darting up to meet the older man's.

The veteran firefighter glances at the candidate, the overwhelmed expression clear on the younger man's face under the worry. Honestly, he was just as freaked out beneath the concern for his younger lieutenant, even after all his time on the job he wouldn't have thought about something like this happening but he knew that he couldn't show that, right now Mills needed him to offer support and he knew that once he pulled through, and he would pull through, Casey would need the same, being hurt and in a burning building is bad enough but he couldn't imagine knowing he had been shot, was in a burning building and had to get another person out. Herrmann shoves the thoughts to the side, focusing on the candidate and trying to offer a reassuring smile as he put an arm around the younger man's shoulders, leading him back towards the showers.

Mills looks at the older man, suddenly feeling like a little kid looking for comfort but he still couldn't help but ask, "Casey'll be alright right?"

Herrmann swallows, young as he may be, Mills isn't a kid and doesn't want or deserve to be treated like a child with false promises about something none of them can control or know and they both know that two bullets to the chest normally doesn't have an optimistic outlook, so he goes with the most comforting truth he can manage, even with it being clichéd, "Casey's strong, he'll fight it."

It's not actually an answer but neither mention that, just as neither mentions the fact that he doesn't say that Casey will win.

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_tbc  
(were Mills and Herrmann in character? That just kinda spouted out, hadn't planned it and would love to know if y'all like it. Also, what about that little team/squad-and-truck mind set thing, was it good? Did it sound silly?)_


	4. Chapter 4

_Oh my god so yeah wow, it's been a rather long time since I posted anything, I really, really sorry about that. There was some writer's block mixed in with life stresses, school stresses and minor injuries from an exceedingly minor car wreck, resulting in the wait. I'm really sorry about that, even worse that this chapter is kinda a filler, it sets up some possible options for me for later if I chose to include certain aspects. Speaking of aspects, there were some things I wanted to address with y'all. I might include Hallie, this is supposed to be taking place like before Leaders Lead, but I also just might not have her in the story but, not sure on that, I would love opinions but they probably won't really influence my overall choice unless they give me a great idea. Kinda on that note, there was some things about more Dawson/Casey, and I wasn't sure if that was about them as a couple or just their friendship. My main focus is going to be Severide&Casey friendship, followed by Firehouse 51 friendships. Romantic relationships may crop up if I just end up writing one out, I'm not sure, the most planning I've really been known to do for stories is an overview not really any details and sometimes things just end up occurring without me planning for them to. I am however, 97% sure of Casey's fate and barring any unforeseen plot bunny attacks, it's not going to change. You guys though, will get no forewarning, I'm not promising Casey's fate either way to you, I personally like stories going that way, when they can go either way, sorry if you were hoping for a concrete promise. Back to the whole friendship thing though, while the main focus is definitely Severide&Casey, I have done and plan to do more of the blurbs from others' POVs that will show Firehouse 51's friendship with Casey and amongst the others as well. The Chief, Mills Shay and Dawson are all definite POVs for the blurbs probably Herrmann and Hallie if I include her, and maybe Mouch, Cruz and Otis. Nancy and Christie were also possibilities but I'm really uncertain about either of them. Those are the ones I've thought of for now, if y'all got any ideas I'd love to hear them and possibly use them. Lastly, the OC's in this chapter are completely unimportant but help me move the plot along and add things so if you've got this thing about OC's they're not gonna be real big. I am leaving myself the option of bringing them, as well as Eric (the kid who actually shot Casey) back later on if I want to add a certain aspect to the already formed plan, so they might return for longer than a sentence mention at a later date. Eric actually will appear sooner and more than any other obviously as his role was as the catalyst. Oh gosh wow, sorry for this ridiculous author's note with way more detail than ever needed but I feel like some things may need to be explained and I also would like to hear y'all's POV on some of the stuff I'm doing. And the whole thing with the OC's explanation was because my friend who looked over this chapter is really weird (not just because of this) and has this thing against like most OC's important to stories, which is just her thing and advised me to warn in the event someone else shared her sentiments, if yes, then glad I included this, if no, well I just made an insanely long authors not even longer and if y'all are actually still reading this at this point I applauded you and send you a virtual cookie. Sorry for this rambling, Lets actual get to the real thing you (hopefully still) want! __I do not own Chicago Fire!_

_Please review!_

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_Previously;_

_They're left standing in the waiting room and all they can do is wait._

_Mills looks at the older man, suddenly feeling like a little kid looking for comfort but he still couldn't help but ask, "Casey'll be alright right?"_

_Herrmann swallows, young as he may be, Mills isn't a kid and doesn't want or deserve to be treated like a child with false promises about something none of them can control or know and they both know that two bullets to the chest normally doesn't have an optimistic outlook, so he goes with the most comforting truth he can manage, even with it being clichéd, "Casey's strong, he'll fight it."_

_It's not actually an answer but neither mention that, just as neither mentions the fact that he doesn't say that Casey will win._

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They end up outside a half-surgical, half-overflow waiting room; there's a harried-looking middle age man; a pregnant but mostly unconcerned looking young woman accompanied by an equally young but much more flustered man; a teenage girl hovering worriedly over a pale and coughing but still weakly smiling and talking younger boy; a roughed up group of rowdy, unquestionably drunk, young men, there because of a fight if the fist shaped bruises are anything to go by; and a composed petite, grandmotherly looking elderly woman with graying red-hair, cared for but economical clothing and warm brown eyes. Severide doesn't even realize he's been cataloguing the occupants through the small glass window during their approach until he nearly walks into the door, earning him a raised eyebrow from Shay.

The blonde medic however, doesn't say anything. Instead, she just pushes the door open and, with a still shocked Dawson following behind, heads quietly to some empty chairs separated the most from the other dwellers. Worn down and exhausted by fear, worry and their urgent, desperate work, the two drop into chairs, bodies leaning together and trying to provide comfort. Empty seats were there for him on either side but with adrenaline and fear and worry still humming though him, Severide can't seat down; leaving him able only to pace forcefully in front of the two women, remaining within the unmentioned but understood boundaries of "their space".

Even worse, the events have left his senses hypersensitive, lights bright, clock tick and his footsteps too loud echoing loudly, and the blood drying on his hands and clothes heavy, the flaking liquid scratchy and color brilliant and captivating.

Shay and Dawson are stained as well, the latter more than the former but for some reason the sight isn't hypnotic to them as it is to him. He's staring at it, can't tear his eyes away even as he starts trying to rub it off but it just smears, all over his hands and it's all over his clothes too, the brilliant red so stark against his soot stained clothes and skin.

A nurse suddenly appears at his elbow, maternal face soft and concerned, voice gentle, "Sir. Sir?" He finally notices her, turning to look and she continues, "There's a mostly unused restroom where you can washup and change into some extra scrubs." She turns to Shay and Dawson, "There's different restroom and two sets of scrubs for the both of you as well of course if you wish."

Shay nods, pulling Dawson up with her, and accepts the scrubs being offered, handing a set to the still auto-functioning Severide who takes them, mindlessly following the nurse and the medics until he was ushered into a restroom, and the door closed, leaving him alone.

Locking the door behind him, Severide tossed he clothes to the side as he stripped to his boxers, revealed skin clean of soot and blood. The usual landscape of scars and har-mucsle lines marred, instead, only by the slowly darkening but unserious bruises, one on his stomach –from the hard fixture that had been next to him in the ambulance and into which he had unknowingly but repeatedly toppled in during the ambulance ride– and a second on his left forearm, in the shape of his right hand, the darkening shadow a reminder of his own death grip on the appendage.

He stares at the incredibly minor injuries and then up at his own reflection in the mirror, at the his soot stained and shocky face and at the line encircling his wrists, separating the clean skin from the soot and blood stains.

And for a second he doesn't want to clean it off, wants to leave it, a reminder, but instead he blasts the water, as hard and hot as possible and his momentary desire to leave the mess abruptly reversing into a growing desperation to _get it off_.

SO he scrubs, flakes getting scrapped off with his blunt fingernails, the water turning a nauseating red-tinted black and he scrubs harder and harder ducking his head down to clean the skin there too. Eventually the near scalding water comes away clear and his hands are only still blood stained in his memory. Severide's lucid enough to be able to separate the two and shut off the flow of water and dry himself off with paper towels.

The scrubs are a pale green and, surprisingly enough, fit him correctly, not clinging tightly across his shoulders or chest, nor stopping oddly short nor brushing the ground. Honestly though, he doesn't really care.

He's trying to decide what to do with his pile of clothes when there's a knock at the door, followed by it swinging open moments later. A male nurse, about both his age and size, steps in clad in scrubs the same color and a gentle expression. He smiles softly at Severide, "Glad they fit," he motions to the scrubs then towards the sooty pile, "You can leave those there, I'll get them for you later."

Severide mutters his thanks before stepping out into the unfamiliar corridor, glancing around in a futile attempt to get his bearings. The nurse notices.

"Here, I'll take you back to the waiting room."

Receiving a nod, he started off, the firefighter following behind, allowing silence to remain for the quick walk back to the room and the two medics, also clad in scrubs, waiting for him.

As he walks away, Luke Stension glances back, sighing at the sight if one of the men who had saved him and his younger brothers a few months ago, looking so lost and broken. Having been a nurse for ten years, Luke had seen this kind of behavior before, the desperate all-encompassing worry and fear. He'd stay and try to help the firefighter if wasn't needed for the increasingly hopeless surgery of a gunshot victim.

As he rushed away, he hoped the man's brother would make it.

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The knock on his door just comes as Chief Boden finishes changing. He freezes for a moment, wondering who possibly woulb be there and when the door swings open it's no one he even thought of.

IT's James Mounts, a chief at a different firehouse and _his_ top two lieutenants, actual brothers Paul and Riley Scott all three wearing concerned, sympathetic expressions. Boden blinks confusedly, James is a good man, a friend and a great chief, not one to either revel in the other's pain or subscribe to petty professional antics, so the purpose of his visit is unclear. For his part, James, the two brothers following, step in and get right to it, "Boden, I heard one of your guys is hurt."

Not surprised at the speed information traveled, Boden frowned, letting his worry but none of his hear, seep out, "Yeah," knowing James knew most of his guys –just as the opposite was true– and hearing the unspoken _who_ he continues, "Casey. He's still at the hospital."

"Bad?" the other chief obviously having heard about the hospital trip but not the seriousness.

"He was shot, twice. In the chest." His words are blunt, mostly for his own shake, the circumstance still feeling unreal but he probably should have softened them, his own words abruptly driving home the realtiy at the same time that they hit the other men.

James stared, eyes widening in shock and mouth opening speechlessly. Next to him, Paul breaths in sharply, expression similar to his chief's but recovery faster prompted by his younger brother who jerked back as if struck, then twitched forward voice worried, "_Shot_? How? How bad? Is he gonna be ok?"

He trails off from any more questions when Paul, who wrapped a comforting arm around Riley, glanced gently at the younger man, prompting a slight sheepish note in his explanation, I transferred to Matt's school the last few months of senior year. He was nice, a good friend. I got into the wrong crowd a bit, he straightened me up, reminded me that just cause I had the same dream as my brother didn't mean I was copying him. We kinda lost touch after training though. Is he gonna be ok?"

Boden dropped into his chair, worry and fear and the fact that one of his men, same men who –at the end of the day –he would consider a friend, was hurt under his watch, weighing heavily on him, the younger Scott brother only verbalizing his own questions and his answer, low and rough, was just as much to himself, "I don't know, I don't know."

"Well, get your guys and go to the hospital, see if there's any news. I'll fill in for you; Riley and Paul and their crews just got off a single shift, and have already offered to cover any of your guys with double shifts."

Boden goes to protest, that he can be professional but he sees James isn't talking to him chief to chief but James to Wallace, friend to friend, not the bosses of their teams but friends and the occasional father figure to guys they had to send in to buildings and quite possibly have to make the decision to leave in said building. So, instead, he nods gratefully muttering his goodbyes and heads out.

Most of the guys are waiting outside the locker rooms, only Herrmann, Mouch and Mills still changing. There's a couple of unfamiliar cars parked outside as well as a few vaguely familiar guys strolling in, faces sympathetic but relaxed. He nearly smiled slightly, firefighters really were ones to pull together, no matter any personal issues, not just around their own house and the guys of other houses too.

Boden just hoped Casey would pull through to see it.

_._

_._

_tbc  
(again I hope no one was OC! My whole basis of firehouses comes from my uncles, neither of whom work in large cities like Chicago, for them, a couple of the guys stay at the night at the end of their "shifts", these night shifts rotate between the guys. Might not mean the same in cities I won't go into detail but that's not a double shift, and a "shift" is actually a couple days. Not important but just clear things up. If there's any questions or confusion, message them to me or toss them into a review and I'll try to clear them up! Hope it's still worth leading!) _


	5. Chapter 5

_I am so sorry its been so long! I was on a trip in Vietnam and Cambodia and I didn't bring my laptop there nor did i have time to really work on this at all! And then, when I got back, i found that my computer had crashed so I've been trying to get it fixed and finally did. So sorry about the wait! Also, I'm sorry this chapter is not only really short, I'm really not sure how I feel about any of it, I'll probably go back and try to make it better, a lot better, but I figured I really should give y'all something because of all the favorites and reviews this has gotten, thank you so much for that. An also because I'm going to be gone and have no updating ability for like another 24 days! I'm sorry! So this is crap and short and won't be updated for a while. And yes, that is how I ended this chapter, I'm being totally evil! Sorry! Also, this whole first scence with this OC (whose not important!) is kinda a setup of a scene I want later but just can't get it right, right now. The second part, with Otis, is a scene I really wanted because, well i just wanted it but I'm not sure I like how I wrote it so yeah...please enjoy and again, I'm sorry this is really not the best at all, if y'all think I should take the time to rewrite it, please tell me (or give advice, I love advice), if not, I'll try to spend equal time editing this chapter and working on the next! Again, Sorry!_

___Please review!_

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_Previously;_

_Most of the guys are waiting outside the locker rooms, only Herrmann, Mouch and Mills still changing. There's a couple of unfamiliar cars parked outside as well as a few vaguely familiar guys strolling in, faces sympathetic but relaxed. He nearly smiled slightly, firefighters really were ones to pull together, no matter any personal issues, not just around their own house and the guys of other houses too._

_Boden just hoped Casey would pull through to see it._

CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*

Minutes tick by on the clock, and the waiting room slowly empties, the young couple and the middle-aged man being led away first by two different nurses heading in two different directions. A third nurse leads the coughing little boy away accompanied by the teenager not long after and finally the rowdy, group of drunken fighters leave, trailing behind two burly male nurses. Only their departure is noticed by any of the three members of Firehouse 51 if only because of the drop in noise level but they're all too weary and worried to think much of it.

It leaves only them and the elderly women in the waiting room, and the three barely notice her as they sit in silence, trying to comfort each other as well as draw comfort from each other wordlessly.

A half-hour ticks by on the clock, the women's face, unnoticed by the Severide and the two medics, softens as she realizes they're settling in for a long wait that might not end in good news. Mona Ames watches the group struggling with fear and worry, and can't help the sympathy from bubbling up inside her. It's clear by the expressions on the strangers' faces that whoever they're waiting for is important to all of them, and probably not in the best shape, their blood stained clothes from earlier even more proof to that. The young man, however, is clearly the one most effected and terrified, but also the one trying the hardest to hide it. His handsome face is tense, eyes seeming to glisten slightly, but his jaw is clenched tight and he remains stubbornly quiet, eyes locked ahead and slightly separated from his two companions. Next two him, the two women _(in other circumstances, Mona would chuckle slightly at the fact that all three are definitely attractive but now just doesn't seem the time, nor do any of them seem the shallow type, especially if the uniforms they came in, the man firefighting gear and the two women both medic's dress are anything to go by)_ are leaning against each other, the dark haired one, a close second to the man in devastation though she, with her quiet sobs earlier and her seemingly catatonic state, seems to have much less trouble hiding it. The blonde seems the calmest but that's not saying she's unaffected by whatever events have transpired to these three, her blue eyes are wide and glinting with worry and she's leaning just as much on the other women.

There's clearly comfort being drawn from each other but it's also clear that stress and worry and fear are weighing heavy down on them all and Mona smiles a soft sad smile. She too is here for a while, but not because she's waiting to be seen or for news on a loved ones, she's here for people like these three. She remembered the kindness lent to her by a stranger in a different emergency room and the comfort and strength she had found in having a complete stranger be so kind and, had talked to the Chicago hospital, once she had settled in the city years before when she first arrived, asking if she could volunteer to provide such comfort to others. So here she was now, and, as she stood and silently left to find a coffee machine –her regular presence had perks like access to actual good coffee machines in the hospital– and three cups, she curiously pondered the relations between the three and whomever they were waiting, more so the women's relation to the man, each other and the injured party because it was clear the man's relation to the unidentified patient.

Whether by blood or by choice in that waiting room was a big brother waiting desperately for news.

CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*

Herrmann had been the one the morosely mention Casey's car, and question what to do with it but Otis had been the one to offer to drive it to the hospital and then later, back to Matt's house and the other's had simply agreed, seeing that as the best plan, before all heading out to their own cars. Otis climbed into Casey's truck last, having had to get the lieutenant's keys from his locker, and the others are already in their cars but idling waiting for him to leave. Only Shay's car is left unrunning in the parking lot, due to the fact that, oddly enough, she and Dawson had carpooled to work that day and, even more unusual, so had the two lieutenants.

The others pull out as Otis starts up the silver truck and, unthinking and out of habit, goes to switch on the radio as he does nearly every time he drives his own car. But it's not his car so he freezes for a second, not knowing quite what to press but he needs the sound right now, needs something to fill the silence bearing down heavily on him so he just presses a few buttons blindly and is rewarded by the sound of the truck's CD player turning on. Otis really isn't sure what he's expecting, other then of course music, Casey's taste in music had never been something he contemplated so in the pause it takes for the player to start up he's ready for anything.

And of course, he's surprised when it's not music that comes on, Instead, static and muffled shuffling hiss out through the speakers. Glancing at the console briefly, he wonders if he set it wrong when a there's and Otis nearly has to stop as his own voice filled the truck. Instead of pulling over he continues on, trying to keep his vision clear for the drive but he struggles to as his own podcasts, recorded and then burned onto a CD, fill the silence pressing down on him harder than the silence had before. Fifteen minutes and multiple of his podcasts later, he, following the others, pulls into the hospital parking lot. Killing the engine cuts off his own voice and suddenly he needs to be out of this space, out of Casey's car because the proof that he's anything but overlooked and underappreciated, especially by the blonde lieutenant is a heavy weight in his stomach. He stumbles out of the truck, barely remembering the close the door behind him and can no longer keep his vision from blurring up as he leans back against the silver truck door.

The others notice stopping because right now they're all hurting and all worried and need each other. Cruz is the one to go to Otis's side, though the rest linger, and the younger firefighter glances up, voice soft, "He's got them recorded, the podcasts, recorded and on a CD."

There's nothing to say to that, nothing any of them can say, no way to respond especially as the statement brings up fresh rounds of fear and worry and a sadness no one wants to admit to feeling because it's so close to grieving and they're not gonna give up not and Casey's not dead yet.

_As far as they know_, is the end to that thought that no one wants to think.

CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*CF*

The surgery room is filled with practically palpable tension as the doctors and nurses work swiftly and precisely over the unconscious patient. The only words spoken are orders, sharp and concise, which are followed out in a similar manner the unsteady and slow beep of the monitors a worrying sound to all occupants. It was clear the patient was in bad shape when he was rushed in, blood stained and crashing but the moment they opened him up it was clear that there was even more damage inside. Any surgery growing increasingly hopeless is hard on the doctors and nurses but right now each even worse with, not only the man's younger age, but also his profession and that fact that the only thing he had tried to do was save people heavy in the room.

There's a shrill tone abruptly, then a curse and a nurse shouts out, "He's crashing!"

_._

_._

_tbc_

_(See yeah, crappy!)__  
_


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